Problem Solving
by onlyonepage
Summary: Molly Hooper's biggest problem is Sherlock Holmes. Always has been and probably always will be. Even as he leaves in the dead of night from her flat following the events of the fall he is still her biggest problem. Sherlolly
1. Chapter 1

'_**We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them'**__**  
**_**Albert Einstein**

Molly Hooper wasn't a detective and she certainly wasn't a consultant detective. She was a pathologist. The only problems she could solve involved dead bodies which is why no matter how hard she tried Molly couldn't solve her problem. It wasn't that she hadn't tried, no, she'd tried on many occasions but her problem still insisted on turning up in her lab at the most inconvenient times.

Sherlock Holmes was Molly's biggest problem. He would turn up in the lab most days and commandeer equipment or 'borrow' a body part or two and she would give them to him on a silver plate. Molly was unable to deny him anything. She'd fancied the pants off him since the first time he showed up in the lab. It became clear after she'd finally plucked up enough courage to ask him out for a coffee that he wasn't remotely interested in her but still she would allow him to wrap her around his finger with those charming compliments that were always followed by a scathing comment all because of her silly little crush. Molly was stuck. She'd tried dating on a handful occasions in the hope of curing her problem but that hadn't worked out too well. Dating 'Jim from IT' had been her last disastrous attempt until now. Molly had a lunch date and she was all ready to leave when Sherlock appeared brandishing a bag of crisps and a scathing comment about her dating luck. Molly gave up on her lunch date something she later regretted when the consultant detective couldn't even remember her name when she tested to see if what she had in her petri dish was acid or alkali. The bastard.

-x-

It was the end of Molly's shift, she checked the lab once more before turning the light's out for the night. Molly sighed and headed for the door having spent yet another long day leaning over the microscope and avoiding the gaze of the deceased but in the grand scheme of things her day could have been worse considering her biggest problem had spent an afternoon in the lab with her.

"You're wrong you know," Molly was startled by a familiar deep voice. She turned with a gasp. It was Sherlock. She relaxed. He wasn't looking at her as he focussed elsewhere, "you do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you but you were right." Molly listened as all intelligible thoughts traitorously abandoned her. It didn't even strike her as odd that he'd obviously been waiting for her. Molly's mind decided immediately that he was after something; it was the only reason for him being so nice.

As was always the case Molly wanted to believe that the consultant detective was sincere but knew better than to hope for such a thing outside of her daydreams. In her dreams he would always sweep into her lab looking every bit the part in his coat and with his leather gloved hands he would cup her cheeks and give her the most amazing kiss of her life sending her week at the knees but Molly wasn't daft, she knew that her daydreams couldn't be a reality.

_You've always counted_, no; Molly couldn't get ahead of herself. Sherlock said things like that all the time to get something. She hadn't always counted; she only counted when Sherlock needed something. Another compliment would be heading her way any second now further establishing that what Sherlock needed would delay her going home to a hot bath and a large glass of wine.

Sherlock turned to look at her, "I'm not okay." Molly's mind had to play his confession twice over before it registered that there was no compliment this time.

Sensible, rational Molly regained control again. This time there was something different. It was in his eyes those piercing eyes that could see right through her soul except this time it was the other way round; this time she could see his. For the first time since Molly met Sherlock he wasn't manipulating her. It was something else entirely.

Molly didn't hesitate in her reply. For Sherlock to open up like that it had to be important. "Tell me what's wrong," her voice was calm and collected as she appealed to the consultant detective. .

Sherlock stepped towards her, "Molly, I think I'm going to die."

"What do you need?" she offered without so much as a second thought.

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am would you still want to help me?" Molly kept her head high as she looked up at Sherlock's imposing form.

"What do you need?" she repeated.

"You."

-x-

Sherlock's body was bought to Molly in the morgue where she provided him with everything he need to clean away the strangers blood they'd used from the blood pack to make everything so much more believable. As the consultant detective stripped off his stained shirt Sherlock Molly's heart rate quickened. She fumbled with setting up the new phone for Sherlock to use to keep her eyes away from his very distracting torso. It just wasn't fair the way his chest was sculpted to perfection.

For two days Sherlock would be using her pokey little flat on the second floor of a four story Georgian townhouse as a base. "Tea?" Molly asked as she stood awkwardly in the doorway to her kitchen. Her bag and coat were unceremoniously dumped on the settee. Sherlock stood in the centre of her living room scrutinising every detail. "Sherlock? Did you hear me?" He looked at Molly. "I-I'm putting the kettle on do you want a cuppa?" It seemed such an ordinary thing to do after the last twelve hours.

"Tea-" Sherlock's answer was cut off.

"It's okay, I know how you like it?" she disappeared in a fluster to the kitchen. Sherlock listened to the sound of mugs clattering in the kitchen and the kettle boiling as his mind fell comfortably into deducing the pathologist's living room. There was a book shelf filled with a variety of books from medical textbooks to romance novels. A box set for a television series rested against the DVD player beneath the television. Molly's choice in television was clearly on par with her choice of jumpers one of which was lying on the back of the settee with a rather hideous floral design. The whole place just screamed of Molly.

"Oh and there's a cat, of course there's a cat," Sherlock noted to himself as he eyed the feline with distain he really didn't want cat hair on his clothes.

Molly emptied a couple of biscuits onto a plate there wasn't much else she could offer after rummaging in her barren cupboards. Her fridge wasn't much better with a stale block of cheese, the dregs of a four pint of milk and a half drunk bottle of wine. "I bought through a few biscuits thought you might be hungry it's okay if you're not."

"Molly," Sherlock warned.

"Right, yes, sorry," Molly picked up a biscuit for herself to silence her ramblings. The chocolate hobnob had lost its crunch sitting in the opened packet in the bread bin. "I'll go out and get dinner in a bit," Molly disappeared back into the kitchen to fetch the tea and hide her embarrassment.

-x-

Molly resolved not to be such a dithering mess when she returned from the Tesco down the road. She'd been to fetch some essentials, toothbrush included, for Sherlock. On her way back she'd grabbed a Chinese takeaway and struggled home all the while cursing the consultant detective and repeating the mantra 'I will not let Sherlock get the better of me' over and over again. Finally Molly Hooper was going to solve her problem.

It took two attempts for Molly to get her door unlocked as her hands shook with the weight of the bags. "Sherlock?" Molly called expecting him to relieve her of the bags so she could shut the door. Sherlock took the bag of Chinese food leaving Molly to struggle with the rest. She held out another bag for Sherlock but he'd already walked away leaving her bag-laden arm outstretched, "Thanks for the help," Molly grumbled as she kicked the door shut with a slam and dumped the rest of the bags in the kitchen. So far it wasn't a good start to her new confident persona Sherlock was already walking all over her. She prepared to try again; some things in life took practice anyway, "Sherlock? There are plates-"

"In the bottom cupboard to the left of the sink," he cut in.

"Err yes," Molly was surprised, "Can you get two for me?" Sherlock looked at her for a moment noting the greasy plastic containers of Chinese food in her hands. "Please," she added. Sherlock retrieved the plates giving Molly her second surprise in as many minutes. The star of her daydreams was doing something so very domestic. He placed them on the worktop. Molly's thanks were curt as she ruined her daydream with reality, "You went snooping in my cupboards!"

Sherlock was unfazed by her outburst, "You were out."

"And that makes it okay? I'm," Molly was getting flustered, "I'm letting you stay after everything I've done and my job! I could lose my job if the truth gets out. You-"

"Thank you," the stoic consultant detective took his Chinese through to the living room. Molly lost her energy to argue further. Was that a thank you for all her help or thank you for the Chinese?

Molly switched on the television unsure of whether Sherlock approved. She decided she didn't care; it was her flat and her rules. As she tried to watch her mind kept wondering to the consultant detective sat in her favourite armchair. _'What do you need?'_ Molly relived his appearance in her lab. _'You,'_ he needed her. A small part of Molly, the part she had shoved away under lock and key, was ecstatic. The man she pined after for years was finally taking notice of her even if it was to help him fake his own suicide.

"Shut up." Sherlock voiced.

Molly looked up in surprise, "I didn't say anything," or at least she hoped not. Oh god, what if she had? Nervously Molly looked at the enigmatic man.

"You were thinking," he clarified and added, "loudly," as an afterthought. Molly ignored him and focussed on the TV instead of the consultant detective sitting with his hands pressed firmly together resting on his chin with one leg folded over the other.

They continued like this for a while. A satirical news show was now on TV; its raucous laughter was the only noise filling the small living room. To Molly it seemed odd that a few hours ago Sherlock was lying on a slab in the morgue and now he was sat in her flat.

When the programme ended Molly went to bed unable to fight of the day's exhaustion. "I got you some things; if you need anything else let me know. Good night," with a slight blush Molly handed Sherlock, who was still sat in the armchair, a carrier bag of items she'd bought at Tesco's earlier. They were mostly toiletries. As Sherlock peered inside she made a swift exit for her bedroom not wanting to listen to his criticisms.

-x-

Molly took a day off the next day. It was no secret to some of colleagues that she'd spent a lot of time with the fraudulent detective before his suicide. Sherlock was gone when she woke up. The blanket and pillow she put out for him the night before were neatly folded on the settee exactly where she'd left them. Molly felt a pang of sadness that he was gone without so much as a good bye.

By dinner Sherlock hadn't returned. Molly wondered if he would ever return or if she would ever see him again. He had nowhere else to go until he got himself sorted. Baker Street was out of the question poor John was there grieving alone and as for Sherlock's brother Mycroft Molly didn't want to open that particular can of worms.

Molly spat her toothpaste into the sink when she raised her head Sherlock was stood in the doorway watching her. She dropped her toothbrush into the sink with the shock. Her cheeks flamed red. She forgot to close the door now that she had a guest. "Err, its okay. I'm done," Molly dried her hands on the towel and turned to leave the bathroom. Sherlock was blocking her way. She hadn't heard the consultant detective enter her flat. "I thought you left," Molly tried to keep the hurt from her voice. She was okay that he would have left without a good bye. Really, she was.

Sherlock stepped back from the door into hallway allowing Molly to leave her bathroom. "I had to take care of something," Molly didn't ask what. They'd already discussed that regardless of her role in assisting Sherlock with his suicide it was better if she knew as little as possible.

"Do you…want anything?" Molly asked tentatively as she stepped from her bathroom into the dark hall.

Sherlock looked down at her. His coat collar pulled up and hands deep in his pockets. Molly found herself unable to look away from his icy blue eyes as his deep baritone broke the silence in her flat, "You."

"Oh," Molly squeaked. The consultant detective moved far too quickly for Molly to comprehend. His hands, cool from the outdoors, closed upon her own pulling her closer. "Sherlock what are you doing?" Molly had enough of her senses left to question his motives.

Sherlock took note her racing pulse and dilated pupils. "Isn't this what you want? Isn't this what you've always wanted?"

"Yes," Molly breathed in response. If Molly was really honest with herself she knew Sherlock didn't share her feelings and that this was just him manipulating her again but after everything this man had put her through surely she deserved to take something for herself? Wordlessly Molly plucked up the courage to pull Sherlock along to her room.

Molly could do nothing to stop what was about to happen as she took what Sherlock was giving her and ran with it. What she felt towards Sherlock was her unsolvable problem. She went along with it like everything else concerning Sherlock. In the back of her mind a voice was chanting 'it doesn't matter he'll be gone in the morning,' but it did matter. It mattered more than anything to Molly.

He wasn't manipulating her for once, instead as his eyes bore into hers Molly was allowed to see for the first time that there was truth behind his actions. He didn't love her, that much was certain but what Molly could see was desperation. This man had ended his own life so that his friends could continue there's and now she, Molly, was his only lifeline to them. They were just two friends seeking solace.

Molly closed her eyes. This was all a dream. It was always a dream. His perfect cupids bow lips on hers, the feel of his hands as they rested on her hips. It all felt so real and that was the problem. Every delicate touch, every whispered name and every gentle moan, all of it real. They both knew what they were getting into as Sherlock walked her back towards the bed.

-x-

Sherlock and Molly lay side by side in the rumpled sheets neither one touching the other. Molly closed her eyes and gave her tired body to the memory of Sherlock and the way he murmured her name as he lost control allowing sleep to take control.

The consultant detective looked back at the sleeping form of Molly, her hair fanned out around her naked body. He clenched his jaw and continued towards the door. Sherlock couldn't stay, not now. He paused and turned back feeling guilty for leaving her. The least he could do was give her the comfort of the covers. When she woke in the morning he would be gone in pursuit of Moriarty's spider web.

-x-

Molly went to the funeral, she cried but not because of the death of the man she loved as those who knew her were thinking. She didn't correct them instead she chose to let them think what they liked. Little mousy Molly suffering from a broken heart none of them knew the truth and Molly was fine with that even if it had been her biggest problem. No matter how hard she tried Molly Hooper couldn't say no to Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

'_**Lying is the most simple form of self-defence'**__**  
**_**Susan Sontag**

It was just over a month since Sherlock walked out of Molly's flat in the early hours of the morning and Molly had done nothing but think of him since. He was still her biggest problem. She couldn't help but wonder where in the world he was at that moment, what was he doing, was he okay or, and Molly's heart stopped at the thought, was he still alive? Molly would sit for hours in front of an evening of soaps on the telly stroking Toby and wondering about the consultant detective.

The first day after he left had been the hardest. Molly couldn't leave the leave the flat instead she lounged around with her recent choice in box set in her tracksuit bottoms and old hooded sweatshirt in a vile shade of green with Toby persistently rubbing against the baby pink fluffy socks that were keeping her feet warm. After some beans on toast and some more god awful television Molly returned to her room that she'd been avoiding all day since she'd slipped from the crumpled sheets after awakening to an empty bed. She didn't expect him to stay, why would he when it had been perfectly clear to all parties what last night had been.

Sherlock Holmes was gone from her life but he was still very much her biggest problem. Not only did Molly still have her biggest problem now she had a whole wardrobe full of problems. It would come out somewhere along the line just what she'd done to help the enigmatic Holmes. Her career would more than likely be over and what about when Moriarty's web found out? She was a dead woman walking. "Oh god," Molly choked back a sob as the full force of what she'd done finally hit home.

The next morning Molly called a number that had been saved in her phone since the first time she met the recondite Sherlock Holmes. It was a number belonging to one of the most powerful men in Britain a man that Molly had dealt with on numerous occasions in the early years of her acquaintance with Sherlock. "Miss Hooper," Mycroft Holmes answered his phone.

"Hello," Molly's greeting was meek as she tried to comprehend what she should say or even how much it was safe to say. It was not a good start to tackling one of her many problems.

"There will be a black jaguar outside your building in twenty minutes. I suggest that we have this conversation elsewhere," as Molly listened she understood perfectly why he was called the Iceman having heard John mention it once.

Molly was met outside her building by Mycroft's personal assistant, Anthea. "Please get in the car Miss Hooper."

"R-right," Molly clutched her cross body bag closer in an attempt to contain her paranoia.

-x-

Molly had no idea where she was going but it gave her time to gather her thoughts with Anthea engrossed in her phone. She could do this. Molly Hooper wouldn't be mousy Molly anymore. The car rolled to a stop and the door was chivalrously held open for her by the driver. Molly had seen the red brick single story building with its faded green wooden doors through the tinted windows as they approached. The car drove straight through the doors which were closed swiftly behind. It was an old pumping house that Molly assumed was on the eastern outskirts of London. Already as car was parked inside.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark but as they did they fell immediately onto a recognisable figure. "I must thank you for the part you have played," Mycroft spoke as soon as Molly set eyes on him. Despite the way Mycroft had a leg crossed behind the other casually leaning on his umbrella Molly wasn't fooled especially after listening to Sherlock complain about his brother on more than one occasion.

"I would do it again," Molly blurted out before she could stop herself.

Mycroft's lips quirked slightly in amusement, "Yes, I'm sure."

Molly took a deep breath to quell her fear of the man, "Th-that is to say-"

Mycroft cut in stopping Molly's rambling, "I can see why my brother chose to seek your help above all others Miss Hooper, your loyalty is to be commended, you will be rewarded for your efforts."

"Oh, but that isn't why I'm here," Molly ploughed on not giving the elder Holmes chance to say anything, "I don't want anything. I just, well, what happens if he…if Moriarty's men find out that Sherlock is alive and that I helped him."

"You are scared," Molly couldn't help but feel as if Mycroft had known this from the start was simply toying with her. It didn't take a genius to see that the Holmes brothers shared some traits. Molly managed to squeak out a yes in response. "You have my assurances that nothing can be traced back to you. Your livelihood and job are both safe. A change of identity can be arranged for you if you are really worried."

"N-no, I don't want that," Molly replied in haste. She really didn't. What if Sherlock needed her help again and she wasn't there to help him?

Anthea was stood not too far away keeping her distance but listening intently as she tapped away on her blackberry to her it was shaping up to be an amusing exchange. "You have every right to be worried," Mycroft straightened himself up to his full height, preparing to leave. It didn't hurt to be too careful, best not to spend too much time in such a place as the one they were in.

"I'm sorry to have wasted your time," Molly apologised

Mycroft swung his umbrella around in a loop and walked away towards the other immaculately polished black car, "Oh I wouldn't say it has been a waste," he spoke as if he knew something no one else did, "Good day Miss Hooper."

-x-

Following her rendezvous with Mycroft Molly couldn't shift her fear. She enrolled herself in self-defence classes with a friend after all a girl could never be too careful in London. The locks were changed on her flat and Molly bought herself a knew kitchen knife to keep under her bed just in case. Molly even went as far to ask Greg to get her some pepper spray and bring it along with him the next time a case bought him to her lab feeling that it would help to solve this particular problem. Ever the gentleman he bought it around the next day regardless of a case.

Molly always listened out for the doors to the lab expecting Sherlock to stroll in. She knew he wouldn't but she could live in hope. The sound of the doors swinging startled Molly as she bent over an autopsy causing her to fumble with the scalpel in her hand, "Sorry Molly," Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade entered alone. He didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to see that she was slightly disappointed by his arrival.

"N-no, it's alright Greg. I shouldn't keep hoping," Molly apologised and pulled the latex gloves from her hands with a snap. "What can I do for you?"

"I just bought around that pepper spray. Is everything all right?" he asked with genuine concern.

Molly brightened up, "Oh yes, just taking some self-defence classes with a friend. Can never be too careful, right?"

"Right you are Molly," he replied.

There was silence for a moment as Molly put the spray to the side. She was very much aware that Greg was watching her, "Is there anything you need, you know, for work?"

"No," Greg caught his staring, "I just bought that over."

"Oh, it could have waited but thank you," Molly smiled sadly seeing the detective inspector looking slightly lost. "How are you doing, Greg?"

"I can't complain," he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, "my suspension ended with no further action taking place. Think I need to thank Mycroft for that."

Molly was almost afraid to ask her next question, "H-have you seen John?"

"Once. He's staying with his sister last I heard. God, I've seen some horrible things but I've never seen someone so broken as John is." Greg fell back to lean against one of the metal tables that an hour ago played host to the autopsy of an elderly lady. Molly felt terrible. She was the only one who knew the truth and couldn't tell a soul. It really was quite a problem that she couldn't put John or Greg out of their misery.

-x-

Molly concentrated more on her work. She took on a few extra shifts and made the most of the overtime that was offered. As time progressed she stopped hoping for Sherlock to waltz into the lab and declare everything back to normal. She managed to put him from her mind, well, for the most part. The consultant detective still had thoughts dedicated to him in the depths of Molly's mind especially when he was still her biggest problem but it wouldn't do to dwell not when she had a life to live.

All Molly's hard work paid off as she got a promotion and raise nearly a year to the day that Sherlock fell from the roof of St. Bart's. Molly was now second in command below Mike Stamford. He was the only other one to have been on speaking terms with the consulting detective, everyone else having been scared off, and thankfully for Molly's sake he didn't suspect a thing. Mike was a firm believer that Sherlock Holmes wasn't a fake like only a handful of others with the privilege of really knowing the consulting detective.

The pathologist, even with Sherlock's words ringing in the back of her mind (_'for the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship'_) began to date again. It was never anything serious. How could it be when should she invite someone back Sherlock could be sat on her sofa? He never was of course. In reality Molly had not seen or heard from the man since he left her bed in the early hours of that morning nearly two and a half years ago.

-x-

Since Sherlock Holmes died of suicide Molly would double check all her locks at night which was why when she was stirred from a slumber by a loud clatter she panicked. Molly forgot about her self-defence, she forgot about the pepper spray in her bag hanging on her wardrobe door handle and she forgot about the knife under her bed. Her body froze under the covers as she listened for another sound. For a moment everything was quiet leading Molly to wonder whether she'd dreamt the noise or maybe it outside and nothing to worry about. The more Molly listened the more she could make out a shuffling sound. A thud definitely against one her walls pushed Molly to fling back the covers and reach for the sculpture of a cat on her dressing table with an uncharacteristically long neck that her aunt had given her for a birthday years ago. Tentatively Molly gripped her door handle and took a deep breath before opening it ready to face whatever problem was on the other side.

* * *

**Confession time- I couldn't leave this as a oneshot. Thank you those who've reviewed/favourited. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

'_**We gain strength, and courage, and confidence by each experience in which we really stop to look fear in the face... we must do that which we think we cannot'**__**  
**_**Eleanor Roosevelt**

Molly's hallway was pitch black as she took careful steps with the ornament held high above her head by shaking hands. Her heart felt as if it was going to tear itself from her chest. This was it. Moriarty's men had found her. Her whole life and she was about to be brutally murdered in her own living room probably not to be found until weeks later when the smell had become too much for her neighbours by which point Toby would probably have eaten most of her flesh and she would be forever known as the lonely woman with the cat. _No_, Molly swore to herself, she was a strong independent woman and could do this. It was a problem and she was going to solve it.

In the orange glow cast by the street light outside Molly could just make out a hooded figure half bent over her sofa. She very nearly let out a strangled cry in surprise. The figure, or rather a man, straightened as Molly took hasty footsteps forwards ready to strike with the weighty ornament. He caught Molly by surprise right when she was ready to clock him over the head a pale hand reached out and gripped the wooden cat. Molly screamed. With a grunt the man clamped his other hand over her mouth. "Molly," she caught a look at his face as his warning tone filtered through.

Molly let go of the hideous cat ornament and it fell to the floor landing with a heavy thump. "Oh! Sherlock!" the man released his hold on Molly and stumbled slightly catching Molly by surprise. She steadied him with her hands using the adrenalin still coursing through her system giving her small frame the strength to guide him onto the sofa. Sherlock fell ungracefully onto it and shut his eyes. "I-I nearly killed you," Molly stated.

"_Don't_ flatter yourself," Molly could see straight through his front. She would always see straight through it.

"What's wrong?" she inquired immediately noticing the way he was holding himself.

"Mmmmfine," he wasn't.

Molly held her ground, "No, you're not. Tell me, please."

"You still have your cat," Sherlock finally opened his eyes. Unable to get a good look at him and worried for him Molly reached for the lamp on the coffee table. Her arm closed upon empty air. The lamp was lying on the floor, knocked from its place. "I startled it."

"Toby will get over it," Molly glanced around for the cat as she picked up the lamp and switched it on hoping it still worked. It didn't and Molly had no spare bulbs. The cat explained the noise. "Do you need anything?" Molly focussed her attention on the wayward consultant detective again.

"Tea," the pain in his voice struck Molly to the core only made worse by the hesitation from Sherlock as he added, "please." Molly put the kettle on switching on all the lights as she went. She may well be in the dark about Sherlock's reappearance but there was no need to be sitting in the dark not if she was to get to the bottom of everything.

When Molly returned with two teas and a box of paracetamol it was to the sight of a quietly snoring consultant detective. "Sherlock?" she set the tea down noisily. He was out for the count. Molly watched him for a moment. His arm was resting across his lower chest gripping his side. With the lights on a dark bruise was visible above the neckline of the black hooded jumper he had on. Mud was splatted across the well-worn dark jeans and boots. Molly could see from his hollow features just how much weight he'd lost. He was a far cry from the man who would stroll into her lab dressed to the nines in his fitted suits.

Molly wanted to let him sleep he definitely needed it but she couldn't, not without knowing just how hurt he was. "Sherlock? Your tea is ready," she'd taken great care to make it exactly how he liked it. That was one of Molly's problems- she never would be able to forget how he liked his tea or his coffee for that matter. The consultant detective couldn't be roused by words alone so Molly carefully placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him awake wary that she might be hurting him.

"Wha?" he was on instant alert and moved far too quickly, a move that judging from the grimace on his face he regretted immediately.

"Sorry," Molly apologised, "There's tea and something for the pain." Sherlock took the offered tea and swallowed the tablets Molly popped out from the packet not giving him a choice to reject them. "When you've drunk that you can take your shirt off," Molly spoke with authority. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "N-n-no, I don't mean like that, I just mean… You're hurt and I-I'm a doctor."

"You're a pathologist," Sherlock stated.

Molly bristled at his comment, "I have medical training and you can't afford to be picky." Something had changed in their dynamic ever since the fall and ever since that night. Sherlock Holmes was still Molly's biggest problem but now on some ground she felt that she was an equal. With Sherlock exhausted and, despite his best efforts to hide it, in agony Molly came to the realisation that Sherlock had complete trust in her.

-x-

(Doctor) Hooper managed to coax Sherlock into her bathroom where the light was better to have a look at the damage inflicted on his body. "What have you done?" Molly asked referring to the obvious pain that Sherlock was in as he returned his grip to his side.

"Nothing," he swatted away her hand. Molly jumped back in surprise at his defence. He seemed to realise what he'd done and conceded to Molly, "Suspected broken rib," his voice cut through the heavy air.

"Oh Sherlock," Molly's tone was laced with sympathy as she watched him struggle with the filthy jumper. She couldn't hide her gasp at the bruises on his torso. Molly knew that he wouldn't like that she was being so sensitive in front of him but couldn't stop herself when she saw the state he was in and what led to it.

Molly gently touched his bruised ribs, "I'll wrap them." She tried not to look at the healed wounds or gnarled scar on his left side marring his perfect skin as she pulled out the first aid box kept in her bathroom cupboard right alongside a box of tampons but now really wasn't the time to be worrying about that.

"Really Molly, cat's on your pyjamas?" Sherlock chastised as steady hands bandaged his ribs. Up until now Molly had completely forgotten that she was in her pyjamas.

Molly blushed, "You can't be that bad if you can still make those sorts of comments," old Molly would more than likely have made a dash for the nearest loo and cried in embarrassment but this Molly, different Molly, who had all but moved heaven and earth for this man could hold her head high.

-x-

Sherlock picked up the shabby t-shirt he wore under the grubby jumper only to have Molly snatch it from them, "These need washing."

"I'm not staying," he answered her as Molly picked up the discarded jumper as well.

The pathologist sighed heavily, "One night Sherlock. Rest a bit. Y-you can take my bed."

"I'll have the sofa," he refuted.

"It's not open for discussion," she turned on her heel and went to wash his clothes, "leave your trousers on the chair in my room. I'll come and get them." As Molly retreated she left a slightly taken aback Sherlock Holmes.

Molly cleared up in the bathroom and washed the mugs from the tea giving Sherlock time to change and sort himself out. When she entered her room after knocking quietly she found Sherlock lying on the side she didn't sleep on with the sheets pulled up to his waist. It really didn't leave a lot to Molly's imagination knowing that Sherlock Holmes was once again lying naked in her bed. He watched her as she scooped up his dirty clothes blushing as she noticed he'd tossed his boxers on the pile with the jeans. "You don't have to have the sofa," he spoke up, "I don't mind sharing. Despite what you might think your sofa really isn't comfortable."

"Oh, no, I-I wouldn't, that is…" Sherlock kept his amusement hidden. In no time at all she'd gone from bossy Molly to mousy Molly again. She sighed and went to put the washing machine on. When she returned she went straight for her chest of draws and rummaged around, "Here," she tossed some fabric at Sherlock having surrendered to the situation. If they were to be sharing a bed a naked Sherlock was really going to be a problem all be it one she didn't particularly want to solve. Immediately Sherlock's mind went into action. Why would Molly Hooper have men's underwear in her knickers draw? Had she finally been able to establish a lasting relationship? But these, Sherlock opened them out, were his size. "You left them behind after you…" Molly didn't finish her sentence, they both knew what she was referring to anyway, "I'll be back in a minute."

-x-

When Molly got into bed she lay on her back staring up at the ceiling. In the dead of the night air she almost broke down into tears as Sherlock murmured a heartfelt, "Thank you Molly." She doesn't say 'you're welcome' or 'that's okay' because they both know that whatever happens Molly would always give him what he needs. Molly lay awake listening to Sherlock's steady breathing. Not once has she asked how he came by those injuries or even what he's been doing for the last two and a half. She doesn't need to know for her own safety but for his as well. It doesn't matter. Knowing that he is still alive is more than enough for now.

Molly couldn't sleep so she turned onto her side to watch the sleeping consultant detective. Boldly she reached out and brushed the short curls from his face. Sherlock doesn't stir. When dawn begins to peek through the curtains Molly tiptoes from the bedroom to hang out his clothes on the radiator. She knows that he won't stay and he shouldn't but that doesn't stop the crushing of her heart as she longs for him to stay.

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**Wow! Thank you everyone for alerting/favouriting/and whatnot. Special thanks to MorbidbyDefault, susieqsis and Kathmak for reviewing:)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

'_**Do you wish to be great? Then begin by being. Do you desire to construct a vast and lofty fabric? Think first about the foundations of humility. The higher your structure is to be, the deeper must be its foundation'**_**  
****Saint Augustine**

The next time Molly sees Sherlock he waltzes right into her lab. Molly was running a tissue sample when the double doors into the lab opened wide. She didn't look up. It had taken a lot of practice but she had finally stopped looking up hoping for it to be the consultant detective. Whoever it was could wait until she'd set down the electronic pipette. "Hello Molly," a familiar voice momentarily broke through her concentration enough for her to reply.

"Hello Sherlock," she replied without a second thought. It was the same greeting she would issue whenever Sherlock made use of his home away from home. Molly did a double take, "Oh!" hastily she set down her equipment and wrestled with the latex gloves, "You're back."

Molly hadn't noticed that John was with him until the ex-army doctor spoke up. He'd watched Molly as soon as he entered wanting to see her response to Sherlock being alive and it wasn't what he expected. "Wait, you knew?"

"John!" she squeaked only now realising his presence, "Oh, I-I'm so sorry John," Molly apologised earnestly, "I couldn't tell you. I wanted to, please, you have to believe me."

Sherlock heard enough of Molly's ramblings, "It was Molly who helped. Didn't I tell you?"

"No you didn't. It's okay Molly," John juggled two conversations at once.

"Hmmm must have slipped my mind, it was a busy day," Sherlock stepped around Molly to peer into the microscope with the tissue sample. The pathologist was still apologising profusely.

John placated her with a hand on her shoulder, "Molly really, it's alright. Sherlock is alive, that's what matters. Is there anything else you neglected to tell me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes flicked to Molly at lightning speed, for the briefest of seconds Molly prayed that he wouldn't go into detail about everything, "No, that's everything," Molly was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

-x-

Molly went home that night deep in thought. She was on autopilot as she navigated the underground. Everything would go back to as it was before and Molly would still be left with her biggest problem when really she shouldn't have a problem at all. She tried to tell herself over and over again that she was completely over Sherlock Holmes as if that would fix everything like magic but it never did. This time though, things would be different. She would go out on dates, hopefully meet a nice man and maybe marry him. Sherlock could still use the lab, she wouldn't deny him that, but she was done with letting him walk over her and just like that Molly had convinced herself that her biggest problem had been solved.

The pathologist felt marginally better as she closed the door to her flat and set about making some dinner. Her good mood continued as she settled down for a night of television with Toby sleeping contentedly next to her on the sofa. Molly was beginning to get sleepy when the sharp buzz of the intercom for the flat startled her. "Who do you think it is Toby?" the cat yawned and curled up further at the loss of its warm companion.

Molly answered the intercom, "Hello Molly."

"Oh, errrm, hello," She could feel her heart racing because of bloody Sherlock Holmes. What on earth was he doing there? Was John with him, it hadn't sounded like it?

"Are you going to let me in?" Sherlock's voice held a hint of amusement.

Molly spluttered a response and let him in. His soft knock on the door pushed Molly into full force nervous wreck for no other fathomable reason other than he was there late at night which with normal people usually meant one thing. Molly gathered her courage and determination that he was not going to be her biggest problem anymore and answered the door. "Evening Sherlock, what can I do for you?" She could feel his gaze on her as she shut the door. She dragged it out not wanting to look at him for fear that her resolve would crumble.

When Molly finally turned to look at him he held her gaze and spoke, "Molly I never thanked for what you did, not properly."

"It's okay Sherlock, you don't have to," she meant it Sherlock was her friend after all.

"I want to," Sherlock stepped closer. Molly could feel the crumbloing of the walls she'd built but had just enough sanity left to grab hold of the falling stone and push it back into place. This was not going to be the same as last time, as _that night._ She wasn't going to take something that was being offered by him all because he felt he ought to give it.

"No, Sherlock," she gently pushed him away and took a deep breath.

Sherlock cocked his head slightly and scrutinised every detail about his pathologist. Her pupils had visibly dilated and he would bet any money that her pulse would also give her away, "It's what you want."

"No…Sherlock, I, that, it," Molly broke off and took a steady breath, "No, I don't." She cut herself off before she could say 'not like this'.

"Molly Hooper you are a terrible liar," he didn't step closer which helped to calm Molly.

She was calmed enough to take offence at his comment not that she ever wanted to be a good liar it still felt could to let her frustrations go, "I'm not a terrible liar. I lied for you for three years! Three really long years… I would do it again, of course I would but I can't do this," she gestured with her hands completely ignoring the intense stare from Sherlock. "I mean really Sherlock what were you hoping to for? A quick shag and then off you go gallivanting with John again? Then just pop into the lab and carry on as normal because Molly's had what she wanted."

"Are you finished?" the consultant detective challenged with mirth.

"No," Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her attitude.

"I. Think. You. Are," his voice was a sultry deep baritone that sat thick in the tense atmosphere as he punctuated each of his words knowing the effect they would have on his pathologist. She was in danger of her biggest problem once again becoming her biggest problem.

Molly's protest died on her lips as soon as Sherlock moved closer and was completely forgotten by the time his hands rested gently on the curve of her hips. No, what on earth was she doing? Molly bought her hands up to rest on his chest and gently she pushed him away. "I-it's not going to work this time. I'm done." It felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her chest so she could finally, after nearly seven years, breathe easy again.

"Done?" Sherlock repeated as if trying out the word for the first time.

"Yes," she smiled happy that new Molly (although not that new anymore) finally had full control. "You can still use the lab, I'm not going to stop you but I'm done with pining over you. Now it's late and I've got work in the morning. You should go and spend time with John."

"Right," Sherlock stepped back and smoothed down his suit jacket. If Molly didn't know any better she would say that he was almost hurt but this was Sherlock. "Goodbye Molly," he shut the door behind him.

Molly watched him leave and managed to maintain her composure. Was she crazy? Sherlock Holmes just offered her a night of pure heaven (again) and she'd turned him down. It was self-preservation; Molly was never going to get over her immature crush on the world's only consulting detective if she took what he was offering. With this in mind Molly couldn't help but ponder his response. The look on his face as she dismissed him had rivalled that of the night he'd asked for her help in the lab. It was the only time that Molly had seen him looking so sincere but that couldn't be right. He was manipulating her again. Shoving it from her mind Molly went to bed.

-x-

John was upstairs in bed. He was supposed to be staying at his long-term girlfriends house but upon Sherlock returning his girlfriend, Mary, had understood and was fine with him spending time with Sherlock of course when he'd made those plans John hadn't expected the consultant detective to do a runner. John had popped out to get milk because just like before Sherlock's fake suicide there now seemed to be no milk in the house again. When John returned it was to an empty flat. As the evening passed and Sherlock didn't return John went to bed. The last few days had been emotionally draining and he was knackered. As soon as his head hit the pillow he was out for the count.

"John!" a deep baritone filtered through John's dreams. He stirred slightly but didn't wake. "John!" this time it was louder and accompanied by hasty steps on the stairs. "John!" his bedroom door banged open.

"What? Sherlock?" John scrubbed a hand over his face and squinted against the intrusion of light from the hall. Having adjusted to the light John's eyes followed Sherlock as he paced backwards forwards frantically still in his coat and scarf. "What's wrong?"

"Everything!" Sherlock snapped throwing his hands up.

"Right, okay. Want to talk about it?" John couldn't believe he was giving up on sleep. Had it been Sherlock shooting the wall out of boredom or a clatter as a petri dish hit the tiles in the kitchen in frustration John would have gotten out of bed and shouted at his friend to 'shut the hell up' but something was different. Even before Sherlock disappeared for three years he would never wake John up in the middle of the night like this.

"No. Why would I want to talk about it?" Sherlock replied in response to John's preposterous question.

John shook his head secretly glad that he had Sherlock back even if he did try the patience of a Saint. "You're right. Sorry, I don't know what on earth gave me that impression."

Sherlock stopped his pacing standing completely rigid on the spot, "Sorry for waking you," his statement was mechanical. The consultant detective swept from the room and took slower steps down the stairs leaving John somewhat baffled.

"Wait, Sherlock," John rubbed his temples and sprung from the bed grabbing his thickest jumper from where it was folded neatly on his chair. "I didn't mean, look, just tell me what's wrong."

By now John had caught up with Sherlock at the bottom of the stairs, "Molly."

"Molly? Our Molly, Molly Hooper?" John followed Sherlock into the living room, "Is she alright?"

"What? Oh yes she's perfectly fine," Sherlock flopped onto the sofa face first, his feet hanging off the end and waved off John's concern for the pathologist.

John's brow furrowed in confusion, "Then what's wrong?"

Sherlock turned over to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling, "I went to Molly's to thank her for what she did."

John didn't hide is surprise, "Really?"

"Yes," the consultant detective looked pained over his admittance.

"Sherlock, did you make her cry?" John was trying to figure out what had Sherlock so out of sorts.

"I offered her thanks, like last time and she said no," Sherlock slowly drew his arms up and put his hands together in a prayer position, resting them under his chin. He'd been right in going to John. John would know what to do.

John could feel a lesson in friendship coming on and before he would step into such territory he really needed a cup of tea and the frazzled looking consultant detective could probably do with one as well. "You mean she didn't accept your thanks? Or, Sherlock, you didn't insult her- again- did you? I bet it's because she's a friend. Friends do things without thinking of what they will get in return. Molly is the kind of person that would say 'you don't have to thank me' or 'anytime' maybe a 'don't mention it'."

"Sex, John. I'm talking about sex," Sherlock blurted out in frustration.

There was a moment of stunned silence as John processed Sherlock's revelation. "You've had sex with Molly?" John had been considering making some tea but after this admission a glass of whiskey or maybe some brandy would do the trick. "When?"

"Two days after I jumped from Bart's," Sherlock admitted. John had to think for a moment as he tried to figure out Sherlock's motives behind such an action when he was a master of manipulation. "It's what she's always wanted," Sherlock added, "I saved your lives, I could hunt down Moriarty's web and she got what she always wanted."

John sighed in exasperation, "Tell me you didn't offer her the same thing tonight? God Sherlock, sometimes you are an absolute idiot." Sherlock presented John with a look of outrage, he was anything but an absolute idiot. "I don't think Molly wants just sex."

Sherlock pursed his lips in thought, "Isn't sex the motivator behind most things?"

"We aren't talking about motives for murder here. Molly is an honest and loyal individual. She's never just been after sex. Molly wanted you to love her like she loves you," John was curious as to what his friend would have to say.

Sherlock correct him immediately, "Loved John. Molly is _done_- her word not mine."

"Molly is a hopeless romantic and you thinking that…" John broke off trying to word it in the easiest way for Sherlock to understand.

"A quick shag," Sherlock provided, "her words again."

Listening to Sherlock rattle of Molly's words gave John a new found respect for the pathologist for standing up to him, "Yes, you thinking that _a quick shag_ was all she was after would hurt. You've managed to steam roller over her feelings once again, well done mate."

"John," Sherlock reprimanded in that tone of his that suggested this topic conversation would soon be over.

"No Sherlock, you need to listen to this. You don't love her so why would you think that your offer was acceptable?" John counted to ten in his head to control his temper.

"I wanted to ask Molly out on a date," Sherlock mused allowed.

"What? Just, no, that is the worst thing you could do," John rubbed sleep from his tired eyes.

Sherlock flicked his gaze over at John; perhaps this could have waited till morning when John's brain would have been more alert for giving useful advice. "I want to ask her out and this is your area of expertise, isn't that what you are always saying?"

John couldn't control his temper any longer and exploded into a tirade, "Sometimes you can be so childish. You only want Molly because she said no. It's like when you were younger and your parents gave away toys you don't play with anymore suddenly all you want to do is keep it for-"

"My parents never gave-" Sherlock interrupted.

"Your violin then," John wasn't going to touch the Holmes family can of worms tonight, "it would be like Mycroft using it."

The smile that spread onto Sherlock's face had John baffled for a moment, "I broke Mycroft's nose for touching it when I was six."

John had to laugh, "Well done," There had been many times when he himself had wanted to punch Mycroft in the face.

"Yes, I thought so too," Sherlock replied, "Now what do I do about Molly?"

"You don't do anything. Apologise to her for being so insensitive, don't ask her out because we both know that you don't really want to," John never thought in a million years that he would be giving advice on this sort of thing to Sherlock but then again he never thought that he would see Sherlock again; stranger things had actually happened.

Sherlock removed his steepled hands from his chin and folded them across his abdomen, "I've always trusted Molly without her help I would not be here."

"You're grateful and that's fine, anyone would be," John tried for the voice of reason, "she was the only contact you had with your life."

"Yes but there's more. When I turned up at her door bruised and bloody she didn't ask questions just patched me up. She took care of me when I had no one else. Tonight wasn't supposed to be a quick shag. Molly counts, John," the ex-army doctor had known Sherlock long enough to be able to identify when he was being honest and this was one of those occasions. "I feel something for her and I can either do this with your _help_," the word tasted wrong in Sherlock's mouth, "or without it."

"Bloody hell Sherlock," John was not one hundred percent convinced because Sherlock was nothing but a good actor but John was a good friend and he would give his friend the benefit of the doubt especially when he knew what it would take for Sherlock to admit such a thing as _'I feel something for her'._

* * *

**Big thank you's to Kathmak, Rocking the Redhead and MorbidbyDefault for reviewing. Also, to everyone who's favourited/alerted I really appreciate it :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

'_**Falling out of love is very enlightening. For a short while you see the world with new eyes'**__**  
**_**Iris Murdoch**

Molly was in the queue for dinner deliberating over the problem of what to have for lunch; Thai sweet chilli chicken noddle salad or a stodgy portion of beef casserole with dumplings. She went with the noddle salad, problem solved. Her day had been good so far with a stack of paperwork completed and two bodies cleared from the morgue. "Molly," Mike Stanford greeted as he sat down in the plastic chair opposite her in the cafeteria.

"Oh Mike, hello," Molly dropped her noodle laden fork back onto her plate; it really wouldn't do to have her boss witness as she shoved noodles into her mouth. Pleasantries were exchanged before Mike got to the point with a wry smile, "My holiday is coming up next week, two weeks in New Zealand which is what I wanted to talk to you about."

"O-Okay," Molly nodded and tried ever so hard to successfully not drop any noodles onto her plate.

Mike shovelled in a good sized portion of his own lunch before continuing, "I need to leave the morgue in capable hands and want you to be my stand up."

"Really?" she blinked in disbelief. Mike nodded as he continued to eat.

"You're the only one that will work with Sherlock so I'm sure it will be a walk in the park for you," Mike reasoned.

"Well, thank you. I-I won't let you down," Molly promised even though she thought differently. It was daunting to have all that responsibility.

When Molly finished her lunch she returned to the lab to continue her work with a new confidence in her step. If Mike thought she could step up for two weeks then she must be doing something right. Molly utilised her job satisfaction and worked tirelessly all afternoon so that in no time at all it was time for home. She left with a smile on her face as realisation hit that she was finally moving on with her life. Her career was going well and with no longer mooning over a certain consultant detective she was starting to think more towards the future instead of clinging to a silly girlish hope that he would actually want to enter into a relationship with her and but more importantly she was no longer thinking that he was the right man for her.

Molly was greeted by a hungry Toby who circled around her ankles with a heavy purr as she stepped into the kitchen. He rubbed against her toes and flopped over onto his back with his claws digging in to her feet until she filled up his empty dish. "Are you hungry Toby?" she chatted away to her beloved cat, "Did you have a good day lounging on my bed? I really need to remember to close my bedroom door, don't I?" Molly stopped herself from talking to the disinterested cat any further. What was she doing? It wasn't like Toby could answer. He was too busy stuffing his face to even remember that she was there. Molly was hit hard by the revelation that she was lonely. A lonely woman with her cat. She lived in the capital city, the most exciting place in Britain and she was returning home from work to put the world to rights with her cat.

Friends were something Molly had until Sherlock stepped onto the scene. It was around that time that she started taking on all the extra overtime and late shifts she could get her hands on in the hope that he would happen to be in the lab that day. Her friends would go out after work to trendy wine bars and Molly would be holed up in the fluorescent lit lab unaware of whether it was day or night. As time passed she began to drift from her friends. She would see them occasionally but would always feel a bit of an outsider because she no longer knew who they were dating or be able to laugh about the recent rom com they saw at the cinema. Things were made worse with Sherlock's supposed suicide, they knew that she worked with him and had a shameless crush on the consultant detective so that when he disappeared from the public eye Molly felt ashamed to go out with her friends. Molly couldn't stand to hear them slate him for being a fraud. He wasn't and never had been but she had been sworn to secrecy unable to tell them the truth. Now though Sherlock was back and vindicated of being a fake so why couldn't she try again with her friends, they weren't to know any differently having never actually met the enigmatic man. Molly decided it was never too late to rekindle friendships and picked up her phone to dial Catherine who she felt would be the most forgiving.

-x-

John Watson was a firm believer that he deserved a medal. He was sat across from Sherlock in his armchair, the newspaper discarded half-read on the table next to him. The ex-army doctor regarded the consultant detective with a hint of intrigue. He always knew the consultant detective had a heart (John was one of the few people to have had the privilege to peek through the gaps in the stone of the walls of the iron fortress concealing it). "Get her some flowers next time you go to Bart's," John offered as a way of advice for his friend. His girlfriends had always loved flowers and once they even helped when he had to make apologies because of Sherlock. The consultant detective turned his nose up at such a fanciful frivolity. John held back on telling Sherlock where he could stick his help if he was going to be so disparaging about it and tried another suggestion, "Maybe you should start with asking how she is and _actually_ be interested?" Sherlock voiced his dislike with a distasteful moan and what John was almost sure was a muttered exclamation of 'dull'. "Well, how about coffee? Molly always makes it for you so why don't you make her one for a change?" The pained expression on Sherlock's face was answer enough to rile John up, "Fine, Sherlock, I'm only trying to help like _you_ asked if you don't want it then I'm not wasting my time any more. If you're not willing to make the effort then what you feel for Molly can't be real."

"But it's so tedious," Sherlock whined.

John shook his head, "No Sherlock, it's what people do in relationships."

"Well this has been insightful," tapped his fingers once on the arm of chair and sprung to his feet doing a complete one-eighty in his demeanour.

"Wait? What?" John's brow furrowed in confusion, "where are you going?" A part of John hoped he was going to get flowers.

"Experiment," Sherlock answered leaving John alone in the living room. By the end of this he would be able to write a book, he'd call it 'John Watson's guide to encouraging high function sociopaths to love' or maybe not, the title was a work in progress for now. John got to his feet and collected a few empty mugs on his way to the kitchen where Sherlock was beginning to fiddle with chemicals.

"So you'll do it then, what I've suggested?" John inquired hopefully.

"No," Sherlock drew the words out in careful and deliberate pronunciation, "I don't do flowers, John." John's advice hadn't been as advantageous as he'd hoped leaving Sherlock to understand why he went through so many failed relationships before meeting Mary (whose name he'd had to learn).

-x-

After her chat with Catherine Molly found herself invited to dinner in a quaint tapas restaurant in Soho which she was looking forward to more than anything in the world that is until it came time to step onto the underground at which point nerves began to creep in like fog in the early hours of an autumn morning. What was she supposed to say to them? Apologise for being missing in action for so long or pick up right where they left off? What if they asked about Sherlock? How was she to answer that? They would think her a fool for being deluded for so long.

In the end Molly needn't have worried. Her small crowd of friends welcomed her with open arms and in no time at all Molly felt at ease with them. They didn't ask about Sherlock much to Molly's joy. They were respectful in keeping things light hearted. Molly enjoyed herself so much that when they suggested that after the meal they headed to a bar for a few drinks Molly was one of the most enthusiastic.

The bar was crowded and buzzing with life. Raucous laughter from a large crowd of girls filled the air when blaring music wasn't reverberating from the caramel coloured walls covered in vintage art prints. Molly and her friends sat in a booth near the back of the bar. They grabbed one as soon as its occupants vacated. The bar was a well-known favourite with London's young ambitious workers and was always full no matter what day of the week it was. "You need to go to Thailand Molly, it's just amazing. Sun, sea and sand. Beautiful scenery. Oh and culture. Mostly it was the cocktails though," Hannah, a drama teacher in Southwark, punctuated her comment with a large swig from her cosmopolitan cocktail. "Archie and I had such a good time. We need to get you a man then he can whisk you off to exotic locations."

"Oh-oh, no, really Hannah, I-I'm alright," Molly was glad the bar was dimly lit hiding her blush. She had just solved her biggest problem she really, really didn't need another one. They were far too much hassle.

Hannah waved her off, "Nonsense, come on. We need another round of drinks let's see if we can find you a hunk." Molly didn't have time to protest and found herself with another problem on her hands as Hannah grabbed her hand and pulled her from the booth towards the bar.

-x-

The following morning Molly opened her eyes bombarding them with painful light. She groaned and rolled over trying to block the light out. Moving was a bad idea. It made her feel worse. A hangover, it was by far her biggest and worst problem yet. Last night had gotten out of hand and, as Molly glanced at the clock by her bed, she had no idea what time she actually got in. It was only supposed to be dinner and a few drinks but escalated as she savoured being with her friends again. Really though, how could she be such a fool as to think she could drink so much and still feel fine the next day? She was getting too old for it. What made matters worse was that in five hours' time Molly would be starting the late afternoon shift at work. Drinking on a school night. How unprofessional.

Molly, after a bacon sarnie and a long shower, was ready for work. She trudged through the main doors with her bag across her body. In the three years since Sherlock showed up in her lab asking for her help the day of his fall Molly's sense of dress had not improved. She was sporting a floral blouse and a pair of tailored black trousers. Her hair had been thrown up in a messy bun as she navigated the London streets. She just about made it into the lab minutes before her shift started. Luckily Mike wasn't around to see temporary lapse in work ethic.

Unlike the day before where Molly's shift passed in the blink of an eye with her enthusiasm for her new temporary responsibility today's shift was dragging more than afternoons spent at her eccentric great aunts as a child. She was concentrating hard on not thinking about her pounding headache as she scrawled a messy signature on a report for Lestrade. Molly was so engrossed in her work that she didn't hear the lab doors open with a whoosh of air or the footsteps of Italian leather shoes on the laminated floor as Sherlock entered the lab.

He stood for a moment, directly behind her observing her slouched position, waiting for her attention but she didn't turn around from her perch on her stool so Sherlock cleared his throat. Molly nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned around with so much haste she nearly toppled from the stool. Sherlock's arm shot out to steady her elbow. Instantly Sherlock perceived her puffy eyes slightly bloodshot from what could only be heavy alcohol consumption and tiredness. In all his years of knowing Molly he had never known her to indulge in such a tedious past time when it was a work night. His Molly never did that. She would stay home with her god awful cat and even worse television.

Molly squeaked at the shock of his touch, "S-s-sorry Sherlock, I didn't see you there." Oh great, Molly thought to herself, she back to being mousy Molly. Her hangover had taken away all the energy she was putting into maintaining new Molly, the Molly without the world's biggest problem.

"I need to use the mass spectrometer," he spoke as he removed his arm from supporting Molly now her balance had been regained. Molly's elbow instantly felt cold at the loss of his touch. _I am new Molly_ she chanted to herself over and over again and turned back around to what she was working on.

"You know where it is, Sherlock, help yourself," she answered him with new Molly. It didn't take as much effort as she thought it was and inside her inner Molly was still chanting _I am new Molly._

Sherlock stood back for a second affronted that she was brushing him off. When Molly said she was done he thought that she would get over it and next time he visited the lab she would be back to her normal self but she wasn't. Sherlock found that it didn't bother him nearly as much as he anticipated it would. If she was mousy Molly then she was not nearly as much of a conundrum as she currently was. Sherlock considered his options for minute, well, it was more of a consideration of John's slightly dubious advice that he was now acquiesced to accept. He'd already stressed that he wasn't doing flowers so maybe he would start small, "Have you had a good day?" a

"What? Sorry, I wasn't listening," Molly turned slightly in her seat.

Sherlock hated repeated himself but John had said to _actually be interested_, "I said, have you had a good day?" the consultant detective groaned internally that he was partaking in something so ordinary.

"You don't need to butter me up to use the lab, I've already said help yourself," Molly answered him. Sherlock stared at her for a long moment as she turned her back on him once again. It bothered him more than it should that he didn't have an answer to his question, could he actually _be_ interested? He made mental note to thank John for his not so brilliant advice when he got home then again, maybe Sherlock had started two small. What was the saying? If at first you don't succeed try and try again.

Sherlock tried again with John's other advice, "Coffee, Molly?" he asked making sure he pronounced her name with the right intonation to send her weak at the knees.

"Get it yourself Sherlock," She answered with a hint of annoyance. Sherlock's brow sunk into a frown if Molly was like this it was going to be a bit of a problem. He may have to consult John again on how to solve it.

* * *

**Yeahhhh, this has definitely taken on a life of its own now. Thank you very much for favourting/alerting and whatnot. **

**MorbidbyDefault- It's Sherlock, of course he had to make Molly feel bad at some point. Thank you for all the lovely reviews.**

**BonneyQ- Glad you're loving this. **

**Renaissancebooklover108- I couldn't agree more, although it seems it's more like he has everything to learn from John.**

**deadgurlagain- Here it is, here is more more more :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**_'Defeat is not the worst of failures. Not to have tried is the true failure'_**

**George Edward Woodberry**

Sherlock retreated to the safety of 221B following his disastrous attempt at trying to, well, Sherlock didn't really know what he was trying to achieve or if it was even a good idea. The consultant detective sat in his chair and withdrew into his mind palace. John's advice had been useless so surely with a mind like his he could come up with a way in which he could further explore his feelings for Bart's best pathologist. It was to the sight of a vacant Sherlock Holmes that Mrs Hudson walked in on.

The landlady come housekeeper (despite her adamant denial) knocked on the door to 221 B that was open and called out. Sherlock remained oblivious to her presence which was nothing unusual. "Sherlock? Oh? You're busy in your mind palace, I'll come back later," Mrs Hudson diverted to the kitchen before leaving to tidy up some of the mess. She assumed it was for a case little did she know that the man she thought of as a son was trying to fathom the complexities of the female species and the bizarre rituals to building the foundations of relationships. If she was aware of the consultant detective's plight she would have taken pity on his struggles and taking great pleasure in helping him to be happy.

-x-

Molly finished her shift and checked her phone. She had three missed calls and two voicemails all from her mother. It sent the pathologist into a state of worry as she dialed her voicemail. If her mother had made so many attempts to contact her then something must be wrong. The first voicemail was scratchy and ended with her mother cursing, something Molly had very rarely heard. "Sorry Molls," the next message held more promise, "got this new phone and no idea what I'm doing. Still not sure I'm leaving you a message. If you pick this up then that's wonderful. I'm coming down to London for a visit next weekend," Molly tuned out the rest of the long message that filled up the voicemail time limit and instead focused on what was going to be one enormous problem. Her mother was coming to visit which meant Molly would be relegated the sofa in her tiny one bedroom flat and be subjected to chat after chat about her current state of singleness and what she was intending to do about it.

It was with a sigh of relief that Molly made it home but with one look at her slightly messy flat she resigned herself to having to clean before her mother's impending visit. Any evidence of her persistently single life needed to be removed from the flat and not just swept under the bed because her mother could and would find it. She had proved that before on her last visit that if Molly remembered it also fell at a distinctly inopportune time following her break up with 'Jim'- just how did you tell your mother that the only man you could find turned out to be gay?

-x-

Sherlock's latest case bought him to the lab. After his disastrous attempt at trying to woo Molly he had avoided the lab at Bart's entirely till the point that even John picked up on it. It had led to a somewhat embarrassing and hesitant confession on Sherlock's part as to his endeavour at asking Molly out. All in all their conversation ended with Sherlock complaining to John about his failed advice and then storming from 221B not to be seen for two days.

"Sort yourself out Sherlock," Molly had just enough time in her busy day to look up from her paperwork and see Sherlock enter before returning her gaze to the worst part of her job. She didn't notice when he stepped towards the work surface she was perched at and set down a cardboard cup of steaming coffee. Sherlock waited for a thank you but none materialised.

His eyes flicked methodically over Molly as he took in every detail that would explain why she was o out of character in her ignorance of him. Normally the woman would move heaven and earth just so he could use the lab. _Freshly painted nail, soft pink. Hair cut, split ends cut off._ Sherlock's eyes travelled to Molly's feet, _new shoes- clearly trying to impress someone. Someone that isn't me._ Sherlock wasn't sure how he felt about that fact. Had Molly turned his advances down because she was besotted with some moron?

It suited Sherlock on this occasion to 'sort himself out' so he left Molly to her paperwork feeling a little dejected for reasons he was loath to admit. The consultant detective immersed himself in some samples of bacteria retrieved from keys on a victim's laptop so as not to dwell on who Molly was trying to impress, "Is this…for me? Sherlock, did you bring me coffee?" Molly's confused voice cut through Sherlock's analytic process.

"Yes," Sherlock almost squeaked as he replied. He cleared his throat and stood up so hastily that his chair dragged heavily on the laminate of the lab floor, "It will be cold by now. I'll get you another one."

Molly shook her head and sipped from the cold liquid, "its okay as it is, see?" She reassured, "Thank you." Molly's smile was infectious as Sherlock found himself battling with a quirk of the lips before returning in silence to his work.

-x-

Sherlock met up with John to relay his findings so far on his case over lunch in Speedys, "Case going well?"

"Yes, a most productive morning in the lab," Sherlock answered as John wolfed down a Panini.

John smiled knowingly, "With Molly?"

"I don't see what that has to do with anything," Sherlock countered immediately and if John didn't know any better he would almost swear that there was a blush tinting the high cheek bones of the mysterious consultant detective. John chose not to comment further and diverted the subject back onto the case but was pleased to see that the doors to the conversation on Molly hadn't been closed completely following Sherlock's almighty two day sulk. Sherlock hadn't spoken to John about anything with regards to Molly since the advice the ex-army doctor provided failed.

Poor Sherlock, John mused to himself, it was in all honestly quite sweet. Sherlock was like a boy with his first crush completely unsure of what he was supposed to be doing. John refrained from giving anymore advice to Sherlock. In the past John's technique had worked on nine out of ten women he met but this was Sherlock he broke every rule in the book so his advice was bound to be inadequate. The more John thought about the more he began to consider that it wasn't entirely Sherlock's fault. Molly worked in a morgue, helped him fake his death to bring down a global criminal network and spend years fawning over a man that most people would tell to 'piss off'- normal just wouldn't cut it.

-x-

With the case over Sherlock returned to the lab this time to utilise some of the equipment that he lacked at home. It was Mrs Hudson's fault really for putting her foot down preventing any new science equipment from entering the kitchen of 221B. "Really Molly, darling, why don't you try internet dating," a high voice filled the air as the lab doors opened. Sherlock strained to hear more, to hear Molly's voice, from his place in the corner of the lab bent over samples. They hadn't seen him yet. Sherlock turned his nose up at the mention of internet dating. Molly wouldn't find anyone suitable anyway and if she did then how on earth was he supposed to achieve what he was aiming to achieve?

"I haven't got time for that," Molly answered the woman that Sherlock could see was a good twenty years elder than the pathologist. They shared the same facial features although Molly was a few inches taller.

The woman waved her hand dismissal, "Pish-posh, you'll never settle down if you spend all your time with dead bodies. It's not very becoming for a lady, men can find a woman with a career quite off putting." Molly disagreed and could think of nothing worse but kept quiet. There were times when it just wasn't worth entertaining her mother's out-dated ideals.

Sherlock could hear Molly sigh heavily from across the room, "Mum please, just wait outside I'll only be a minute. You're not allowed in here."

Sherlock tuned out not hearing what her mother said and instead waited for her to leave. Molly made a hasty beeline for a stack of folders on the shelves. In hindsight Sherlock could have chosen his moment to make his presence known a bit better but there was nothing that could be done about it as he spoke, "The internet really doesn't need you adding to its useless dribble," he hadn't meant to sound so harsh but something possessed him at the thought of another man even so much as speaking to Molly. Jealousy, how human of him.

Molly let out a yelp and dropped her folders she bent down to pick them up and hide her embarrassment, "W-where did you come from?"

"I was working," Molly listened as he got up from his stool and stepped closer until his Italian leather shoes were the only thing in her line of sight, "let me help."

"N-no, it's fine. You must be busy," Sherlock ignored her feeble protests and stooped to pick up most of the folders. By the time Molly grabbed the rest he was already stood up with the folders arranged and held out for her. "Thank you."

"I see you have your mother visiting," Sherlock commented.

Molly panicked. How did he know that was her mother? Had they met before? No, he was Sherlock, he just _knew_ things like that regardless of whether you told him. It was a scary thought Sherlock meeting her mother. It was a thought that made Molly's problems not seem quite so big anymore. She didn't have to reply as Sherlock continued to talk, "Except, you don't want her here."

"Sherlock!" Molly chided.

"Am I wrong?" he challenged with the hint of smugness.

"I'm just busy at the moment covering for Mike," she countered as an excuse but it was no use hiding it from the man who saw everything. Needless to say Molly was more than glad when her mother opened the door to shout through to her daughter to hurry up giving the pathologist an escape route.

-x-

Molly and her mother had a delightful afternoon doing some sightseeing. They visited Kew Gardens something Molly had never done in all her years of living in London. It was a relaxing afternoon away from the pressures of Bart's especially with the double workload she currently had.

When they returned Molly was ready to put her feet up but no sooner had she sat down when Toby appeared from his favourite hidey hole under her bed where he would lurk for most of the day only to venture out for food. Molly looked up at the clock on the wall. It was well past Toby's dinner time, no wonder he was forcefully rubbing himself against her toes. Molly got to her feet and nearly tripped over the feline on her way to the kitchen.

Mid-way through opening a sachet of cat food the buzzer for her flat rang, "Mum! Can you get that please?" She couldn't hear who it was over Toby's meowing and the sound of the washing machine that she had turned on earlier. Molly cleared away the fork she used to transfer the cat food into the bowl and wiped down the worktops before returning to the living room. She assumed that whoever had rung the buzzer for her flat had the wrong flat because she'd heard nothing from her mother to indicate it was someone for her. It wouldn't be the first time it had happened. Her neighbours quite often entertained in their flat and always seemed to have new people over. "Who was it, Mum?" Molly rounded the corner into the living room and froze on the spot. Sherlock Holmes stood in the middle of her living room.

* * *

**I'm really sorry this has taken so long (and if this chapter is a bit rubbish). I've had theatre commitments and a new job (head of department!) that's eaten all my time but the production has come to the end so life has quietened down. **

**Thank you all for the continued support- especially MorbidbyDefault, Renassancebooklover108 and Wholockhead for their reviews :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

'_**All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his'**__**  
**_**Oscar Wilde**

Molly Hooper's attention rapidly switched between the unfathomable man and her mother who was clearly out of sorts herself. Sherlock straightened his upturned coat collar. How was she ever supposed to solve her problem when he showed up in her flat looking all mysterious? More importantly what was the protocol for when a self-proclaimed high functioning sociopath showed up in your flat only to be met with the over the top fussing of your mother? Molly had nothing. She could turn back into the kitchen; pretend that it was a dream- a horrible tormenting dream- and hope that her problem went away of its own accord. "Evening Molly," Sherlock greeted calmly. Bugger, Molly cursed to herself.

"H-hello," Molly stuttered, "I'll just put the kettle on." Molly plummeted into blind panic. She could flee to the kitchen to make tea and her mother and Sherlock could go to war- problem solved.

"You don't need to do that Molly, get your coat. We're going out for dinner," Sherlock spoke in a voice as clear as crystal so there was no mistaking his intentions. It held that tone that used to send Molly swooning in the lab.

Molly's mouth opened and closed like a fish before she could properly formulate a response without voicing the colourful curses resonating in her mind like a broken record. She looked at Sherlock; the bastard was enjoying himself at her expense. "Mum and I were going to have a night in with a takeaway," there, Molly hoped that would serve as a suitable excuse.

"Nonsense you go Molly, this lovely young man wants to take you to dinner," Molly felt like a child again as her mother scolded her.

The pathologist could see no easy way out of it. It left her no choice in the matter. Her mother had traitorously left her to her fate. "O-okay, j-just give me a few minutes," in a daze Molly walked into her bedroom to get ready. Was she really going out to dinner with Sherlock? If it weren't for the fact he was physically there in the flesh then she would think this was all a cruel joke. Sherlock Holmes didn't take women out to dinner. He took John and it was always for a case. Maybe John was busy. Yes, Molly would go with that. John was busy and Sherlock was putting on his charm to extract her from an evening of Coronation Street and Chinese food so that he had an assistant for the night.

It was pure fear that had Molly putting on a bit of lipstick at lightning speed. Fear that her mother would mortify her and Sherlock would reduce her mother to tears. There was no telling what her mother or even Sherlock would say when left alone together. As she opened the door Molly's her worst fears were confirmed.

-x-

Sherlock was out of his depth and berating himself for making such a stupid decision driven out of jealousy towards an incompetent moron Molly was more than likely never going to meet on a dating site. The consultant detective was left alone with a woman he had absolutely no interest in talking to whilst at the same time being forced to engage in what was sure to be a stimulating conversation so that he could be on Molly's good side was ridiculous. In fact, this whole scheme was ridiculous. He didn't do dates so why on earth was he at his pathologists with every intention of going on one. The consultant detective was married to his work yet there he was about to do the dirty on it. Sherlock had concluded, through sound reasoning and deductions, that if he invited her to dinner he would ensure a result that he had previous failed at achieving but more importantly, it would allow Molly to see how serious he was about her. She counted and always had he'd just been too disinterested to see it.

Having had time to reflect but more importantly listen to John berate him for being an idiot he'd concluded that the last time he tried to embark on some kind of relationship with the pathologist it hadn't been one of his finer moments. Dinner was simple and something even an emotionally stunted consultant detective could master- they had been John's words.

"I'm glad Molly has found herself a nice young man," Molly's mother at least had the decency to wait until Molly closed the bedroom floor before she began an interrogation that would give the most adept detective inspector a run for his money. Sherlock held back a groan. Why did Molly have to leave him there? She really didn't need to make any effort to improve her image.

"Well Molly is a lovely woman," Sherlock started to speak but stopped himself. The pointless niceties felt alien as they spilled from his mouth but wasn't that what every mother wanted to hear? He could feel his body betraying him as his palms began to sweat. His traitorous transport was allowing his inner turmoil to surface. Give him Moriarty any day of the week. He glanced towards Molly's room in the hope of seeing her leave it even though she'd only been gone less than a minute. It seemed it was every mothers prerogative (his own included) to make a complete fool of themselves.

Unlucky for Sherlock Molly's mother really only had one thing on her mind, "You are already treating her a lot better than the last man she took an interest in. Unrequited of course, what was his name? It began with an S. Sherman? Sheldon? It was a weird one. Poor Molly, she never has much luck. She tried, bless her, someone she worked with but he turned out to be gay." Sherlock very wisely stayed quiet. Anyone in their right mind could see that her mother had been on more than her fair share of failed dates recently judging by the wear and tear on her diary left on the coffee table with a torn out lonely hearts page poking out from the top of the closed book. It didn't take a genius to see that the indentation of her wedding band had long since faded indicating that it had come off a while ago, a year after her husband's death. Sherlock took one look at the over the top make-up clarted onto Molly's mothers face and decide that he'd seen enough to calm his nerves and block out the rest of Mrs Hooper's incessant ramblings.

"Mum!" Sherlock was thanking whatever entity was out there for Molly's well-timed interruption. "We should be going," Molly snatched up her bag and bolted for the front door to hide her embarrassment from the man that saw everything. Sherlock was hot on her trail equally keen to escape her mother's pointless drivel. "Help yourself to anything!" Molly called back.

"Wait a second! Sorry, I didn't get your name?" Molly's mother joined them at the door preventing any further escape.

Sherlock glanced between the two women seeing the same expectant look on their faces. Clearly, from her earlier comments, Molly's mother had a very low opinion of him not that she knew who he was and he was more than willing to put her in her place but there was Molly, he couldn't do that to her. It would ruin the whole evening. With what Molly was sure, was a mischievous glint in his eye Sherlock straightened up and held out his hand for Molly's mum to shake, "Sherlock Holmes." They left Molly's mother speechless on the threshold to Molly's flat with the revelation that this was the man who tormented her daughter's feelings for years.

-x-

Molly and Sherlock didn't speak to each other as they journeyed in a taxi to the West End. How could Molly say anything that would make up her for her mother's blatant lack of tact and subtlety? Molly swore to herself that she would never ever be like that. She liked to think that she was safe especially with family and friends saying she was so much like her dad.

Sherlock paid the fair before Molly had chance to offer to go halves. They walked down several main streets weaving between other people. Out of the corner of her eye Molly kept peeking at Sherlock, she was too afraid to turn her head and be caught looking at him. She was trying to figure him out. Molly pushed him away when he'd turned up her flat following his return yet there he was even after her mother had accosted him. It was as if to look at him would undo all the work she'd put into moving on from her biggest problem. If she were being reasonable, she'd see that hard work had long since unravelled from the moment Sherlock rang the buzzer to her flat.

When Molly finally plucked up enough courage and turned to look, she came face to face with his glacial eyes. He had been looking at her! Molly's inner self was doing cartwheels real Molly could only dream of being able to do. At being, caught looking Sherlock turned his head and focussed on the footpath ahead.

Subconsciously the pair gravitated towards each other until Molly's arm brushed against his that sent heat radiating up their arms as if a white-hot heat had scolded them. Sherlock couldn't bare the silence any longer, "Your mother is a fool. Stop allowing her to occupy your valued mind." Of course, Sherlock could tell what she was thinking and of course, there was a well-placed insult in there. Molly didn't mind she knew who he was and knew what to expect and besides after the embarrassment her mother just put her through a 'fool' was putting it mildly. What struck Molly as odd was the compliment delivered with the insult that was so typically Sherlock. "You are surprised?"

"I, w-well, you…" What was she trying to say? All Molly managed to achieve was a floundering muttering instead of what should have been a simple answer.

"Don't be. I've told you before. You've always counted," he cut across her rambling response.

"Thanks," Molly squeaked out unable to express how surprised by the whole situation.

Sherlock placed a hand gently on her elbow to steer her into a crooked side street. Molly felt a little apprehensive and started to once again think that this was all for a case. Why else would he lead her into such a place? "I thought we could have Greek food," Molly looked up at the dark brick of the building. It didn't look like much but as they stepped inside exquisite aromas and rich colours of authentic decorations bombarded their senses. Only Sherlock could know of such a gem in the whole of London.

Molly let out a delighted gasp, "This is beautiful." Sherlock inclined his head and held his arm out for her to take the lead and follow the waiter to their table where Sherlock was the very epitome of a gentleman and pulled Molly's chair out.

"So, what's going on?" Once seated Molly cut to the chase without opening her menu.

Sherlock tilted his head to the side thinking he had made himself perfectly clear about what the evening was. "Sorry?"

"With the case," Molly prompted. It really was the only logical explanation of all the facts. Sherlock should be proud of her deduction.

"There is no case," he answered her, "just dinner."

Sherlock watched as Molly's brow furrowed slightly, "just dinner," she repeated under breath.

* * *

**Wow! Thank you all so much for all the lovely reviews :D I honestly didn't expect to get so many, you guys are amazing! Hope you enjoy this chapter. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

'_**Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then'**__**  
**_**Jane Austen**

Just dinner. Molly repeated to herself as they ordered. Nothing about the evening was _just dinner._ The restaurant had to be the fanciest that Molly had ever been to. She felt so underdressed but Sherlock in his tailored blazer and expensive shirt fit right in. All of Molly's confidence plummeted leaving her a nervous wreck. She fiddled anxiously with the napkin placed over her lap. "Stop that," Sherlock demanded, "It's distracting."

"Oh," she answered him all other words failing her. Just wonderfully she mentally scolded herself, once again she was a blithering fool.

"You're nervous. Don't be," Sherlock didn't need to check her pulse to know that it was racing.

"Sorry, I-I just, why?" Molly abandoned all attempt at conversation and went for answers instead. The pathologist watched him as he reached for his drink with his usual grace.

The consultant detective quirked an eyebrow and set his drink down, "Isn't it obvious? It should be. John said-"

"John said what?" Molly cut in with a panicked squeak.

"That this was a way to-make-my-intentions-clear," Sherlock rushed his answer so that his words blurred into one long one. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. John made this seem so easy.

Molly sighed and hoped that what she thought Sherlock had said wasn't the case. They'd been through this already. Sherlock didn't need to do anything to thank her for her part; she wasn't a charity case that needed just one night with the enigmatic Adonis. Most women, herself included, probably thought her crazy for turning his offer down in the first place. "Sherlock," Molly decided to let him down gently understanding that he was out of his depth with what he was doing, "You really don't have to do this. It's okay you know, we're friends and friends help each other."

Sherlock stood up abruptly, his chair screeching on the wooden floor of the sophisticated restaurant drawing looks from other customer. "Sherlock! Sit down please!" Molly whispered harshly in attempt to avoid causing a scene or any more of a scene at least.

"What is wrong with you?" his tone was cold and cutting.

Molly blinked in surprise, "Excuse me?"

"You would have jumped at the chance for this before, is it someone else? Have you met someone else?" His scrutinising gaze focused solely on her. She felt his eyes on her as he flicked from head to toe in deduction. Molly shrunk away slightly any remaining confidence evaporating quickly. "No that's not it, no, it's something so much simpler than that. You don't believe me to be sincere. I thought you of all people would have been able to see that. You've always counted to me Molly Hooper but I can see that is no longer the case."

"Sherlock," Molly paused to choose her words carefully, "Sit down, please. You've got it wrong." She was out her depth. Moriarty had knocked her confidence in trusting men but with Sherlock, it was always different. She always trusted him and knew that he trusted her completely.

"Have I Molly?" it was a challenge. Sherlock was always right.

Molly's heart beat in a panic. "Please Sherlock," Molly begged him with a glance around the restaurant. Eyes burnt into the pair. Molly felt as if they were painting her as the villain. They probably thought she'd been having some illicit affair with his best friend when they couldn't be further from the truth. Sherlock sat back down but Molly knew better than to breathe a sigh of relief. "I didn't, I don't want your pity. I'm always mousy Molly-" Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, "Don't please, I'm not stupid I know what people say." Sherlock was quiet. In the past he had manipulated Molly but not now. "You offering me what you did when you returned. It hurt Sherlock." Sherlock listened to Molly. This wasn't how dinner was supposed to go. It was all going horribly wrong. "Be honest with me, do you really feel something for me?"

"Yes," his deep velvety voice portrayed how truthful he really was. It was the same back then, when he needed her help.

"Then let's have dinner, shall we?" Molly tried to hide the desperation in her voice. The consultant detective obliged, "I want to enjoy this," Molly smiled. Sherlock pulled his own lips into an awkward smile.

-x-

Molly discovered very early on in their acquaintance that he was prone to being overdramatic after she accidently destroyed some of his samples so his reaction at dinner shouldn't really be a surprise. Sherlock Holmes and sentiment didn't exactly go together which didn't help matters but he was trying and Molly really appreciated that.

Dinner was a success in the end. Molly really enjoyed herself. They mostly discussed work and John. They kept to familiar territory. For Sherlock it was reassuring. He'd never been on a date that wasn't for a case before and found that it wasn't unpleasant. He even allowed himself to indulge in desert.

Sherlock settled the bill at the end of the evening despite Molly's protests and hailed a taxi to take Molly home. The pathologist requested that the taxi stopped a few streets over. Tentatively Sherlock linked his arm with Molly's as they walked. Molly sensed his reluctance and held tightly to Sherlock's arm with a gentle squeeze of his lower arm. "Thank you for dinner Sherlock."

"You've said that already," he answered her. Molly smiled to herself glad that he hadn't changed himself for her. He wouldn't be her Sherlock if he had changed.

"I really enjoyed myself in the end. You are quite the romantic," she nudged him playfully. He hummed in acknowledgement of her enjoyment.

They walked together silently each pondering their own thoughts. Every now and then, a car would pass them or they would pass beneath a streetlight to be momentarily illuminated. Molly was still trying to believe how lucky she was when in the back of her mind rationality was niggling away that this was all a horrible dream, a trick of the mind and any minute now she would wake up at her desk faced with nothing but paperwork and dead bodies.

Sherlock on the other hand was trying to fathom how he ended up in this position with Molly on his arm. What was more perplexing was that he liked it. He cared for her that much was certain as he attempted to anticipate what his next move would be. The consultant detective had watched enough crap telly and listened to John go on and on about his dates to know that there was a kiss on the doorstep. It was like some unwritten rule that Sherlock wasn't entirely comfortable with. It was pathetic really, when after his fall they'd shared a bed together.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Molly's gentle voice cut through his musings.

"Tomorrow?" he repeated somewhat dumbstruck at her boldness, "I don't…"

"You've got an unfinished experiment cluttering up my lap," she chastised lightly now at ease with the consultant detective.

He considered what she said for a moment. She wanted him there with her. He joined in with light humour, "That was careless of me."

Molly smiled widely glad that he was going to be in the lab, "I'll have a coffee ready."

-x-

The pair made it back to the door to Molly's building. "T-thank you again for tonight," her stutter returned as she stumbled over a goodbye. Normally she would either give whoever it was a goodnight kiss if the date had been a success or if it hadn't then she would say a swift goodbye and hightail it inside her building. As Molly was deciding how to solve this problem Sherlock was faced with the same conundrum. He hadn't quite figured out how he was supposed to end their date.

"I'll walk you to your door," he opened the door and held it there for Molly to pass through in somewhat of a daze at his chivalry. It was delaying the inevitable really.

Molly stopped outside her door and fiddled in her bag for her keys hoping that her mother hadn't heard them and didn't have her ear pressed against the door. She wouldn't put it past her. Molly tucked a stray hair behind her ear and looked at Sherlock stood with his hands in his pockets. The byzantine consultant detective was watching her every move. Molly swallowed nervously anyone watching them from the outside must be in stitches by now, having a good laugh at their expense. "Goodnight Sherlock," she moved her head to meet his eyes; the stray hair fell into her face again. She reached up to push it back with a slight scowl not realising that Sherlock had the same intent. Their hands collided clumsily. "Oh, umm," Molly clammed up at the surprise.

"I've had a wonderful evening, Molly" Sherlock took a step nearer, a devilish gleam lit up his eyes as he took great effort in pronouncing her name in that special way that always had her falling at his feet and he bloody well knew it. He closed his eyes. Molly panicked internally, _oh my god,_ he wasn't going to kiss her was he? She wanted it, of course she did, what she didn't expect was for him to want to. His lips pressed ever so lightly on her cheek. With his hand he pushed back the stray hair with a feather light touch, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes," Molly answered automatically as he walked away. She turned around and unlocked her door. There was no sign of her mother even though the lights were on. Taking a moment Molly fell back against her front door and reached up to touch her cheek.

"Oh Molly, you're back. Did you have a nice evening with that man?" Molly nodded and took her jacket off.

Her mother sat herself down and looked her over, "Mark my words Molly Hooper. He will break your heart."

"Mum," Molly warned, she didn't want to listen to her mum complain at the many reasons not to like Sherlock. She was always so desperate for Molly to find herself a man and the moment she does it's the very one her mother doesn't like. Well tough, Molly decided, she doesn't have to like him.

-x-

True to his word Sherlock was in the lab the next day. He sent Molly a text saying he was on his way so she abandoned all her paperwork and went to make him a coffee. Black, two sugars. She set it next to his half-finished experiment and went back to her paperwork unable to concentrate as she listened out for his arrival. She'd been a dream-like state since their dinner that wasn't _just dinner_.

He arrived within minutes of Molly setting down his coffee. "Hello Molly," he greeted as he took of his coat.

"Hello Sherlock," she answered back reminding herself not to be a babbling mess.

He sat down on the stool placed near his experiment and busied himself with setting up a slide. Molly felt a little disappointed that there was no mention of their dinner night before or his chaste goodbye. "Thank you for the coffee," he picked up the mug of hot liquid and flicked his eyes at Molly.

"Oh, well I said I'd have one ready," she blushed a little at the memory. Sherlock could feel his body betraying him as he observed his pathologist. His heart rate had definitely quickened. A result of increased levels of dopamine, norepinephrine and serotonin. It was the limbic system. Sherlock sat up all night attempting to reason out his body's betrayal whenever he was with Molly. It was happening right now as he catalogued every single one of Molly's delicate features. His eyes travelled to hers and stopped. Molly was looking directly at him catching him staring. Sherlock cleared his throat and returned to his work not seeing the gleeful smile that Molly was wearing.

* * *

**This is horribly cringe-worthy and for that I apologise.**

**Thank you for all the alerts/ favourites. Special thanks to AdaYuki, galaapple12, Renaissancebooklover108, Cloudy Glass, Black Diamond07 and Ambur for their lovely reviews :D**


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